Fortune, thought I, has never been over kind to me when I did my best to woo her; let me see if a little indifference on my part may not render her more graciously disposed. From some peasants on their way to market I learned that the village was called Lys, and was on the high road to Montreuil. At all events, then, I was in France, which was almost as much my country as England, and with even so much did I rally my spirits and encourage my hopes. The country-people, with their pack-mules, stared at my strange appearance, and evidently wondered what manner of man I might be, for I still wore my full-dress suit; and my lace ruffles and sabot, however discolored, showed undeniable signs of condition. Many, however, saluted me respectfully, and touched their hats as to one of rank above their own, and not one displayed anything approaching levity or a jest at my singular exterior. It might possibly have been the secluded character of the spot itself, or that the recent peace with England had brought about the change; but whatever the cause, neither police nor gendarmerie questioned me as to my passport, and I strolled into the first café that presented itself, to take my breakfast, without hindrance or impediment.
While I enjoyed my meal, I amused myself with the newspapers, at that time filled with descriptions of festivities and court receptions, at which the English were the honored guests. Instead of the accustomed allusions to insular eccentricity, awkwardness, and boorish unsociality, there were nothing but praises of English frankness and cordial simplicity. I saw that the Government, for doubtless good reasons of its own, had given the initiative to this new estimation of my countrymen; and resolved, if possible, to reap the benefit of it, I repaired to the Mairie and asked to see the “Maire.” In a few words, I told him that I had laid a heavy wager to travel up to Paris and back to England without a passport; that I had made this foolish bet at a dinner-party, which I quitted to accomplish my undertaking. My intention had been to have landed at Havre; but, by ill-luck, we were driven on shore to the north'ard, and narrowly escaped shipwreck; from which having saved myself, I reached Lys, destitute of everything save a small sum of money I carried about me. I told this story with the air of one who really felt that any impediment to so harmless a project must be impossible, and with such success that the Maire invited me into his drawing-room to repeat my tale to his family, as an excellent illustration of the length to which English eccentricity could go.
My manners, the facility with which I spoke French, my calm assurance of not requiring any other aid or assistance than the friendly offices of the authorities, so gained his favor that he promised to think over the matter, and give me his opinion in the morning. I asked for no more. I was not impatient to get forward; and at that moment the little grass-grown streets and alleys of Lys were as pleasing to me as the most fashionable thoroughfares of a great city.
He did not send for me, as he promised, on the following morning. A second day and a third passed over with the same results; and still I remained loitering about the village and making acquaintance with every notable monument, from its quaint old church to the little obelisk in the marketplace, commemorating the birthplace of its great citizen, the architect Mansard.
I had by this time formed two or three slight acquaintanceships with the townsfolk, who, although living on a high road much traversed by travellers, were a simple-minded and maritime set of people. The little routine of this quaint old spot also pleased me; and I persuaded myself that I should ask nothing better from fortune than to be able to pass my life and end my days in Lys. Vast numbers of English poured daily into France at this time; and it was one of my chief amusements to sit at the little café in front of the “poste,” and watch them as they changed horses. I do not suppose that even yet our countrymen escape from what would appear to be the almost inevitable blunders of foreign travel; but at the time I speak of, these mistakes and misapprehensions were far greater. The Continent and its languages were alike new to them. National peculiarities were all more marked, and John Bull himself less compliant and more exacting than he now is.
As the temper and tone of the day were, however, favorable to England, and as Englishmen were remarkable for the liberality of their payments for all services rendered them, the nation was popular, and whatever errors or awkwardness they committed were speedily forgotten or forgiven. I was seated, as was my custom, one morning, watching the tide of travellers that rolled by unceasingly, when a large travelling carriage, with eight horses and a mounted courier in front, drew up at the “poste.” While the horses were being harnessed, two gentlemen descended, and, crossing the “Place,” entered the café. One was a large, full, and somewhat handsome man, with that florid look and air so characteristic of an English country squire; the other I had not time to remark ere he came up to me and said,—
“Happy to meet you again, Mr. Carew; I trust you don't forget me.'”
It was Colonel Canthorpe, whom I had met at O'Kelly's dinner-table.
“This chance meeting is a piece of good fortune,” continued he, “since it enables me to pay a debt I owe you. On looking over my memorandum-book, I discovered I had lost three hundred, and not two, to you. Am I correct?”
I professed, with truth, that I had no recollection of the matter, nor had anything to guide me to its memory.